Bathe the body in quinine. Then let his wrists be braceleted with the stings of tiny iridesacent insects. A group of ten restless boys should encircle the sleeper whose marrow is to be rekindled. The boys must sneeze violently without covering their mouths till the body is wet. A poultice of figs and licorice smeared over the lips has often proved useful. Rub foot soles with prickly poppy and buttermilk. Place a live green tree frog over each nipple and stroke the frogs tenderly until they are calm. Cover the empty genitals with white duck feathers. Allow relatives to huff and puff and blow the feathers away. Under no circumstances should anyone sweep them up or collect them. They must float where they will.
Don't let the sleeper stand up too quickly. Giddy on arising, he may declare there are swarms of fireflies swooping through the room. He'll be hoarse, prey for days to seaside complaints, prone to whine that everything smells of vinegar (or another pickling solution), and that, sore all over, nothing he lies down on is soft enough anymore. He may try to bite you. He make talk nonsense, and sob: Where is the silver forest, the lapping glassy canal unruffled by its boats, the flock of noisy parrots I was promised? Resist temptation to fall to your knees and beg for his forgiveness. Instead, armed with pinches and kisses, fistfuls of pumpkin seeds and biscuit crumbs, let him be breathed on by the subtle dusty gusts from a lily's golden-tonsilled throat. Graciously welcome the truant soul home as you stutter your love-- that thin tuneless exhaust we exhale every day.